For your body:
Your boyfriend jeans aren’t going to cut it in this sub–40 degree weather (4.44 degrees Celsius, for those hailing from countries sensible enough to use the metric system), and the verdict’s still out on which has more holes: your cable–knit sweater or the logic behind “fashion over function.” Sorry, did you just say your passions are haute couture and hypothermia? Because that’s what it sure sounds like. Find a happy medium, stick to a warmer wardrobe (translation: layer the fuck up), and save yourself a muggy–eyed trip to CVS for cold medicine. Then again, it’s prime time for your sweatpants to come out of hibernation. They count as athleisure, right?
For your feet:
If you want to take a memory trip down into the deep, dark fashion abyss of your middle school years, now’s your time. In any other season, it would be impossible to rationalize wearing furry boots anywhere but in the safety of your own home. But hey, if your feet are cold, then your feet are cold. And if geometrically–repulsive, ethically–questionable footwear makes the trek down to DRL that much easier, then so be it.
For your soul:
If Sharon from down the hall is spiting you for Jingle Ball Rock–ing out already (“For the love of Sheryl Sandberg, it’s not even Thanksgiving yet!”), then cut that frosty fucker out of your life. As they say, there are two types of people at Penn...people who think it’s okay to jam out to Mariah Carey’s “” in mid–November, and the socially–irrelevant. Oops!
For your mind:
Highbrow hopes you’ve been paying extra attention in your poli–sci lecture or at least have skimmed the news lately, because tense, politically–charged, familial infighting season is right around the corner! Your perennially drunk uncle has been fixing up to debate you since last Thanksgiving’s debacle, and your sweet but oh–so–gullible grandma has a loooooooooot to say about the new Starbucks holiday cups. Highbrow will take a gingerbread latte with a pump of “intellectual diversity,” please.
For your liver: